The Audrey of the Outback Collection (10 page)

On the road were other carts, riders on horses, an Afghan on a camel, and people walking. Audrey wanted to look in every direction at once. Her neck was becoming sore from turning her head left, right, then left again.

A plump Aboriginal woman with a scarf wrapped around her hair smiled as their cart went by. Audrey waved.

Then she heard loud rumbling and twisted around for a better look. A dust-covered black car had turned onto the road behind them. Douglas threw himself, headfirst, onto Audrey’s lap. His elbow hit her shin. His words were buried in the folds of her blue smock-dress.

The noisy car quickly caught up to the cart, its tyres whipping up dust. More dust than a camel would make, or a horse. More than
two
horses. Audrey glimpsed the driver’s long, dark sleeves and hat. Then the car passed and they were swallowed up in a cloud of dust. The camels pulling the Barlows’s cart snorted and sped up.

‘Stay close,’ Audrey reminded her friend Stumpy. If he ran off by himself, she might not be able to find him. Price rolled his eyes.

Douglas lifted his head. ‘It’s gwowling. It’s got a tummy ache.’

‘It’s not growling, Dougie,’ said Price. ‘The car has a motor to make it go.’

Audrey felt a bubble of excitement. Anything could happen in town.

The front door opened and a tall, old lady marched out.

Five

A little further along, a herd of goats strayed onto the road. They bleated and refused to obey the bald man who was trying to guide them. The goats were like naughty children, each wanting to go their own way.

Douglas sat up and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Gently, Audrey tugged at his hand. His thumb popped out. The second she let go, it went back in as though it was on a length of elastic.

On the last road in town, Dad pulled on the reins and the camels came to a grumpy stop. The cartwheels crunched on gravel.

‘Here we are,’ said Dad.

The big house stood alone, facing the plains. Large windows at the front of the house looked like eyes, except they were shut. Dark green ivy covered the front wall. If it grew any more, it would block the doorway.

‘Dad, is there another door at the back?’ asked Audrey.

He nodded.

‘Mrs Pat … Patingsin must be rich if she’s got two doors.’

Dad leapt down onto the dusty road. ‘The lady’s name is Paterson, Two-Bob. Better get it right.’

‘Pancakes,’ said Douglas.

‘Are you hungry, Dougie?’ Audrey smiled at her little brother.

Price jumped to the ground by himself. Dad helped Mum down, then Douglas and last of all, Audrey.

She felt her stomach flutter as she looked at the big house.

Stumpy stood back, restless and snorting.

The front door opened and a tall, old lady marched out. She was dressed in black, from her high-buttoned collar down to her ankles. She looked like a burnt stick.

As the lady opened her gate, Dad put one hand to the brim of his hat and tilted it. He didn’t shake hands with girls and ladies. Only men. Dad had a strong grip. Maybe he was worried he’d squash girls’ hands. ‘Afternoon, Mrs Paterson.’

Mrs Paterson’s grey hair was pulled back into a tight bun. A good share of wrinkles creased her face. Her nose was sharp enough to open a can of peaches and her mouth drooped at the corners.

Audrey’s mum stepped forward and smiled. ‘Thank you for asking us to stay, Mrs Paterson.’

‘I have a large house and one tries to be charitable.’

Mum’s smile disappeared.

Mrs Paterson’s voice made Audrey think of water dripping into the dark well at home.

Dad introduced them all.

There was something about the way the old lady eyed them up and down that reminded Audrey of her dad inspecting stock.

‘You must be tired and hungry,’ said Mrs Paterson. ‘Come inside. Do be careful to close the gate properly. Otherwise the goats will eat everything.’

‘Pancakes,’ demanded Douglas.

‘I
beg
your pardon?’ Mrs Paterson’s mouth tightened like a shrivelled quandong.

Suddenly, a month in town seemed a long time.

Six

The Barlow family sat around Mrs Paterson’s kitchen table.

Although the kitchen was large, it was so neat that Audrey wondered how often the old lady sat there. There were cupboards with doors, not just stacked wooden crates like home. And the glass window over the sink was covered by net curtains. They had gone yellow in places from the sun and Audrey could see where they had been mended. But they were proper curtains.

There was a soft shiny covering on the floor, with a blue flower pattern.

‘That’s linoleum, dear,’ said Mum, with a wistful look.

The floor at home was rammed mud. In summer, Audrey’s family sprinkled it with water so it didn’t crack in the heat.

Audrey ran her fingers down the fat leg of the solid kitchen table. The wood was smooth, cool and straight. Everything Dad made was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. But no one minded. A navy-and-red checked cloth covered Mrs Paterson’s table. Audrey put her palm against the cloth. It felt stiff.

Then the rich aroma of stew filled the kitchen and Audrey forgot all about the curtains and the coloured tablecloth. Over by the stove, Mrs Paterson slipped a large ladle from a hook and began dishing stew into bowls. The pot looked large enough to hold stew for the whole town.

She carried the bowls to the table, one at a time. And she didn’t spill one drop. As well as meat, there were potatoes, carrots and peas in the rich, dark gravy. Audrey’s mouth watered. It was bad manners to start eating before everyone was seated, but Mrs Paterson moved as slowly as a wet hen.

Douglas slobbered on his thumb. Audrey tried to ignore the juicy sound.

The kitchen was growing darker. Audrey stifled a yawn. Her legs still felt as though they were shaking from the rattling cart. That morning, like the previous seven, her family had woken with the birds. All the birds in the bush had called out to each other as the sun rose.

Mrs Paterson’s black skirt rustled as she reached up to tug at a cord that dangled from the ceiling. Instantly, a light came on.

Audrey gasped. Douglas forgot about his thumb. Even Price looked surprised.

‘It’s a miroolcool,’ said Audrey.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs Paterson blinked rapidly.

Audrey wondered if Mrs Paterson begged pardon because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Mum smiled. ‘The children have never seen an electric light. We use kerosene lanterns.’

‘Of course. There is a windmill out the back, attached to a generator which gives me electricity.’ With both hands, Mrs Paterson smoothed the back of her skirt before she sat at the table.

Audrey didn’t understand what wind had to do with the bright light in the kitchen. But she was thrilled to see it.

‘However …’ Mrs Paterson stared across the table at Audrey. ‘That is no reason to speak frivolously about things in the Good Book.’

Audrey had no idea what the word starting with ‘friv’ meant, but she liked books.

‘Do you have
Martin Rattler
?’ she asked. ‘Fair dinkum, that’s a
good
book. It’s my favourite. Axshu … act-u-ally … it’s my
only
book, but even if it wasn’t, it would still be the best. It’s got the sea in it. That’s a big water they have at Adelaide and, if you stand on the beach part, you can’t even see the end of it. You can hop in a boat and sail right to the edge, ’cept there is no edge. Mum says the world’s round, so if a country didn’t get in your way, you could sail around in a big circle, but you wouldn’t fall off.’

Mrs Paterson’s eyeballs wobbled.

‘I’m hungwy.’ Douglas grabbed his spoon.

Mrs Paterson cleared her throat. ‘First, we must give thanks.’

‘Fanks.’ Douglas dipped into his stew.

‘I mean thank the Lord. I am only the cook.’ Mrs Paterson bowed her head to give her own kind of thanks.

Audrey looked down at her bowl. She was hungry enough to eat a goanna between two slabs of bark. Reluctantly she closed one eye, but kept the other open. She could hear the telltale drone of a blowfly. There it was—hovering near her plate. Fat and black. At home the Barlows kept their meat in a cool safe with hessian walls. If blowflies sneaked in, the meat became infested with wriggling, white maggots.

Audrey waved her fingers above her plate.

Mrs Paterson was grateful for a lot of things. She was taking a long time to say ‘Thanks’.

The fly dived towards Audrey’s stew. She waved harder. The fly changed direction and headed for Douglas’s plate. Audrey couldn’t call out to warn him. And although he still clutched his spoon, his eyes were clamped shut. Audrey reached out to wave her right hand over her brother’s plate, while still moving her left above her own.

Finally Mrs Paterson got to a part about ‘safe journey’ and ‘new friends’. She said ‘Amen’ and looked around the table.

Mum whispered a reply. Dad cleared his throat. Price made a sound but it was hard to tell what it was. Since he turned twelve, he grunted a lot. Price reckoned it made him sound like a man. Audrey reckoned it made him sound like a camel.

Douglas shovelled in his first mouthful. Holding onto his spoon had given him a headstart.

‘What do you say, little boy?’ Mrs Paterson raised one eyebrow.

‘More?’

‘That is not the word I had in mind.’ Mrs Paterson sighed and looked at Audrey, hoping for better things. ‘What do you say, miss?’

Audrey looked down at her stew and flinched. ‘Maggots.’

Seven

In the darkness, Audrey felt her way along the side of the iron bed. It wasn’t that special having electricity if you couldn’t use it. There was a candle and matches on a small table, but only in case Audrey or Douglas needed to visit the dunny out the back of the house.

Audrey’s cousin, Jimmy, reckoned some people in big cities poured water down their dunnies. But Mrs Paterson had a long-drop, the same as the Barlows had at home. The seat was smoother wood, but underneath it was still only a hole in the ground. Although Mrs Paterson’s dunny did have little squares of newspaper on a hook. You could sit in there and read the words.

Carefully, Audrey raised the bedroom window. She shivered as the cold night air seeped in.

Audrey scrunched down on her knees and whispered, ‘Stumpy! Come here.’

A breeze stirred the leaves. Something rattled. There was no moonlight, so she couldn’t see Stumpy. But she heard his footsteps, followed by his breathing.

She listened to what he had to say, then replied, ‘I don’t like it here. Mrs Paterson makes me think of dried plums …’

Audrey’s eyes widened as she heard rustling, then shuffling footsteps down the hallway. A light flickered along the wall opposite the door. Shadows twisted like eerie fingers. Then came tapping on the wall.

Ghosts wandered in old houses like this when they were bored with graveyards. Audrey’s heart raced.

‘Cooee,’ she heard, as soft as a sigh.

Her shoulders slumped with relief. She’d recognise that
cooee
anywhere.

Dad tiptoed into the room, holding a candle. He put one finger to his lips, then quietly closed the door. ‘I guessed you were still awake, Two-Bob.’

She pushed the window down. It squealed on its sash. ‘I think things, even when I don’t want to, and it keeps me awake.’

‘Hop into bed.’

‘Colder than a polar bear’s behind, isn’t it, Dad?’

His lips twitched. ‘Something like that.’

Dad placed the candle on the bedside table and looked down at Douglas. ‘He’s certainly the champion snorer of the Barlow family.’

Audrey climbed into bed and Dad pulled the heavy grey blankets up to her chin. He hunkered down on the floor, his face close to Audrey’s. Shadows blackened his eye sockets.

‘Dad, do you believe in ghosts?’

‘Only the ones in our heads.’

Audrey gasped. ‘Ghosts can live in people’s heads? Is that because they don’t have any themselves?’

‘I mean that our memories, the things we think about, can sometimes haunt us.’

Audrey nodded. She didn’t quite understand, but she wanted Dad to think she did. ‘Do you reckon ghosts can see Stumpy?’

Dad shrugged. ‘I came to say goodbye, Two-Bob. Price and I are leaving before the sun comes up.’

‘Can’t Mum and Douglas and me come with you? I’ve never been dogging.’

‘Mum needs a rest. She’s very tired. And I have to work. No dingoes—no money.’

Audrey thought about her mum’s strained face during the trip from up north.

But staying in this house for a whole month seemed impossible. ‘Mrs Paterson doesn’t like me.’

‘She doesn’t
know
you. When she does, she’ll like you. Just as everyone else does.’

‘But I said
maggots
at the table. I don’t think Mrs Paterson says maggots at the table.’

‘You won’t do it again, will you?’

‘But there are lots of words. What if there’s another one I say by mistake? Mrs Paterson’s mouth will do this.’ Audrey pouted, her lips forming a knot of wrinkles.

Dad cleared his throat. ‘She’s not used to children, that’s all. We don’t have the money to stay at the hotel, and Mrs Paterson volunteered to take you in. Remember, there’s a good side to everyone, Two-Bob.’